


Pencils and Paper

by I_am_Eli



Series: My name is Alexander, and I believe we've met [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Amputee John Laurens, Deaf Alexander Hamilton, Foster Care, Gen, Mute Aaron Burr, Reincarnation, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_Eli/pseuds/I_am_Eli
Summary: Alexander arrives at his new home.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens - Relationship
Series: My name is Alexander, and I believe we've met [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983223
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Pencils and Paper

The drive to Virginia was a long one, even for Alex, and he was asleep through most of it. They had driven away from the hospital at eight PM, driving for six and a half hours straight until they finally passed Virginia’s state lines. Alex thought Flint was going to weep with joy when they finally arrived, and they still had an hour’s drive left until they reached their destination.

Flint had been surviving off of coffee and determination the entire drive. Every time his eyes started to droop, he’d order another cup. If he got queasy, he’d chug a water bottle, and continue on drinking his coffee. Alex honestly didn’t understand how the man was still alive.

_ I wonder if that’s how I was, way back when… _ Alex thought.  _ Did my darling Betsey bear the same thoughts I am thinking right now? _

Alex didn’t quite understand all of his memories - he was only nine years old, how could he? - but he knew that he hadn’t made Betsey’s life easy. He knew he had betrayed her, in some way, though he couldn’t quite remember how yet. He knew that he was never home, always working, and that she was always alone. He knew that he had never deserved her.

Alex blinked rapidly to keep himself from crying. Stupid nine year old emotions. 

He leaned back against his seat and let his eyes slide closed, just for a moment…

And when he opened them Flint was shaking his shoulder, a crazed look in his eyes, and they were parked in front of the biggest house Alex had ever seen. Alex’s mouth fell open.

It wasn’t a mansion by any means, but the house was large and so was the property. It was coloured with a pleasant yellow, two white pillars holding up the roof that hung over the porch. There were so many windows, all of them intricate in design and all of them matching, not a single blemish in one of them. 

_ Lots of windows means lots of bedrooms,  _ Alex thought idly. A moving figure caught his attention.

It was a boy. Maybe eleven years old, hanging outside his window, the only thing keeping him from falling being his fingertips. He couldn’t see his face, and he had long, curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, but he was almost certain it was a boy. The headlights illuminated him. The boy flinched, his head whipping to the side to stare at the car, before he lost his grip on the window sill and fell to the bushes down below.

Alex rushed out of the car, running over to the bushes. The boy was laying on top of them, little green leaves sticking out of his curly brown hair. He was covered in freckles, and one of his pant legs had rolled up to reveal a prosthetic. The boy looked so familiar…

When he reached out a hand to help him up, he knew why.

_ Flashes of memory. _

_ The smell of gunpowder, calloused hands, late nights in taverns drinking away their fears of the war and its consequences. Heated moments in tents that neither talked about the next morning, writing letters that remained hidden in drawers to keep from prying eyes, the deep, all-encompassing sadness that had overtaken him when he heard the news… _

_ Killed in action. _

When the memories faded, the two boys stared at one another. The boy said something. It was too dark to tell what that something was, even with the dim light of the headlights. The boy lurched forward quickly, drawing Alex into a tight hug, practically breaking his ribs. The two boys sank down to the ground, neither letting the other go. Alex was almost certain John was crying. He was even more certain that he was crying as well.

He felt someone prod his shoulder. He looked behind him to see Flint, staring at him with questioning eyes. There was a tall, bald man with light brown skin behind him and a petite woman with flowing brown hair and a sweet disposition. John reluctantly pulled away from Alex when he saw the two adults.

The man said something. John responded. The man’s eyes widened dramatically, gaping. The man turned toward Alex, saying something to him. The man, too, looked familiar. And then it clicked.

_ Figures,  _ Alex thought.  _ Even in this life he’s intimidating.  _

**_Hello,_ ** Alex signed.  **_My name is Alexander, and I believe we’ve met._ **

**_Hello, Mr. Hamilton,_ ** George signed, smiling.  **_It’s wonderful to see you again._ **

**_Likewise,_ ** Alex signed.  **_Are there any others? Anyone else we knew before?_ **

George snorted. 

**_You’ve no idea._ **

Alex felt a grin splitting his face. If John was here, maybe Betsey was here as well? Or Gilbert? Or even Hercules? He’d even be happy to see Burr, at this point. 

John stood, and helped Alex to his feet. Alex walked toward his former general and stuck out his hand. George shook it, and the memories came flooding in immediately. 

_ Blood. Long nights spent scratching at a piece of paper with his quill. Short exchanges, but an odd fondness between the two. Dinners at the Hamiltons’ house. George’s funeral. _

When the memories faded away, George, too, had tears prickling in his eyes. Alex sniffed. 

**_I think it’s about time for us all to go inside,_ ** George signed. Martha nodded. They all stepped into the house, John never straying from Alex’s side, George and his wife talking to Flint as they went. 

When they reached the living room, John ran upstairs. Alex had just enough time to feel a pinch of sadness that his friend had left already before the boy returned, wielding a notebook and two pencils. John dragged him toward one of the plush, purples couches, sitting him down before plopping down beside him and scrawling something down on the notebook quickly. 

_ I’m sorry I don’t know sign language. We’ll just have to talk like this until I learn. _

_ It’s okay,  _ Alex wrote, handwriting significantly messier than John’s.  _ Don’t worry about it. I’ll help teach you.  _

_ Thank you,  _ John wrote.  _ And thank you for coming back. _

Alex smiled.

_ How old are you this time around?  _ John wrote.  _ I’ve just turned eleven. _

_ I’m turning ten in a couple months,  _ Alex wrote.  _ Bit younger than you. How’s your life been treating you? _

John frowned.

_ Not great. But I guess it can only get better.  _

_ Wanna talk about it? _

_ No.  _ John gave him a look that said ‘drop it’. Alex nodded.  _ Were you born deaf? _

_ Yes,  _ Alex wrote.  _ I was born really early, so I have a lot of health problems. But I’m not completely deaf. I can still hear things, it's just quiet and really garbled. I used to use hearing aids, but they weren’t very good.  _

John nodded.

_ Still an immigrant?  _ John wrote.

_ Still a southern hick?  _ Alex wrote back. Their shoulders shook with laughter. 

_ Yeah, still from South Carolina. You?  _

_ I’m not sure,  _ Alex wrote.  _ I don’t think I’m an immigrant this time. I’m pretty sure I was born in Texas.  _ John threw his head back and laughed. Alex poked him with his pencil.  _ What’s so funny? _

_ You were just calling me a hick, meanwhile you’re from TEXAS,  _ John wrote, script shaky with how much he was laughing. Alex punched him lightly.

He saw movement on the staircase. Perhaps one of the other foster children had been drawn downstairs by John’s laughter? He looked up.

There was a boy, maybe a few months older than Alex. He had dark skin, hair cut close to his scalp, and hunched shoulders. He was wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a Pink Floyd t-shirt. Alex waved at him awkwardly.

_ Who’s that?  _ Alex wrote.

_ You don’t want to know. _

_ No, I think I do,  _ Alex insisted. 

_ I really don’t think that’s a good idea. _

Alex rolled his eyes, standing up abruptly and walking over to the boy. He was about Alex’s height, maybe half an inch taller, and he looked terrified. Alex stuck his hand out abruptly for the other boy to shake. The boy shook it hesitantly.

_ Arguments. Glares. How slight fondness had turned to hatred as the years wore on. The election. A bullet piercing his side. _

Alex started.

**_Burr?_ ** He signed, before he could stop himself. Burr probably didn’t even know how to sign, what was he thinking…

**_Hello, Hamilton._ **

**Author's Note:**

> I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I'm writing the story as a one shot book because there's some time skips and it'll be inconsistent if i do it as a fully fledged story. Sorry if that's annoying. Please comment!


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